


And Then You

by hellosterek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, but takes place in the Teen Wolf universe, not entirely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:38:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellosterek/pseuds/hellosterek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek won't leave Stiles alone after another pack attacks him. Stiles gives him hell for not taking care of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Something short I wrote up based off an RP that I'm a part of. I wrote this months ago and just decided to post it now because it's one of my favorite scenes I've ever written. I don't know why, exactly, there's just something about this scene that makes me happy. I hope it has the same effect on you.
> 
> As a general note, Derek is still an alpha in this.

> **“** _How my dreams, they spin me ‘round. How my dreams, they let me down. How my thoughts, they spin me ‘round. How my thoughts, they let me down. Then there’s you…_ **”**   **-And Then You, Greg Laswell**

Derek smothers a frown as he stares at Stiles’s extended hand, drawing in a deep breath. His jaw locks and his muscles tense, his eyes falling closed as their hands touch and the pain shoots from Stiles’s arm into Derek’s veins. He breathes out harshly, nostrils flaring as the exhaustion pulls him down, makes his body feel ten times heavier than it really is. He lets out a low growl and withdraws his hand from Stiles quickly, hugging his arm close to his chest. He turns his back to Stiles before the boy can get a word out and tries to steady his shaky hands.

He doesn’t want Stiles to see him like this, to have him know just how much the past 40 hours are wearing on him, but he’s beginning to lose control of his own body. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go on without getting some rest. He knows it’s not good for him to keep denying himself of the sleep that he needs, but his mind won’t stop racing long enough for him to sleep.

"Derek?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Derek breathes slowly through his nose and turns to Stiles, quirking an eyebrow as he lets his arms rest at his sides.

"I’m sorry."

Derek can hear the thrumming of Stiles’s heart, erratic and slightly frantic, and he wonders why he’s so nervous. “For what?”

Stiles shrugs and waves a hand vaguely in Derek’s direction. “For making you do the pain drain thing. For making you stay here. For - for - Derek, you don’t have to stay.”

"I know I don’t," Derek replies without hesitation. He falters only slightly at the surprised look Stiles gives him. He sighs. "I’m not leaving, Stiles."

Stiles squirms and Derek’s lips twitch down at the smell. Stiles doesn’t smell  _right_. With every move he makes, Derek catches a hint of the pain he’s in, of his sharp, sour smelling sweat and the hitch of his heart. Derek doesn’t like it. Doesn’t know what to  _do_  about it. It makes his skin crawl, so much that he has to struggle to keep still. He didn’t drain enough of Stiles’s pain, but he can’t handle any more. Every time he drains Stiles of the pain, he feels it himself, and it’s only adding to his exhaustion.

"Why?" Stiles questions after a long moment.

Derek can hear the heavy thrumming of his heart, but tries to ignore it, much like he tries to ignore the word vomit that usually comes from Stiles’s mouth. Like the comment he made earlier about dreaming about Derek. It’s just easier to ignore those things sometimes.

"Because I don’t know why the pack went after you." Derek shifts his feet, avoiding Stiles’s gaze and looking at the computer chair, momentarily wondering whether to sit down. He knows his muscles would feel better if he did, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Sitting would imply staying and Derek doesn’t know how long he can keep that promise. Not when the responsibility of the pack rests on his shoulders. He has too many people he feels responsible for now. He has too many people who need protecting.

He frowns and meets Stiles’s gaze. “And I’m not going to take that risk again.”

Stiles’s mouth opens dumbly, as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t quite know  _what_  it is. “You-” Derek listens to the stumble of his heart and waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts. “Why do you do that? Why do you - you always put others before yourself, Derek. Why do you do that? You’re clearly - you look like hell, Derek.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but remains silent.

"When was the last time you slept, huh?" Stiles demands, grunting as he pushes himself off the bed. He waves a hand unceremoniously at where he’d just been laying. "You should sleep. I’ve slept enough."

"Stiles, don’t be an idiot-"

"No, Derek!  _You_  need to stop being an idiot and  _sleep_. You won’t be any use to any of us if you’re too tired to protect us.”

Derek’s eyebrows pull together with a frown, eyes wandering to the chair again. He waits a moment before sighing and collapsing onto it, lifting an eyebrow in Stiles’s direction, as if challenging him to protest.

"Der-you know what? Fine. If you want to be stubborn, then be stubborn. I’m too tired for this right now." Stiles collapses back onto his bed with a huff, only managing to suppress a small yelp when he twists the wrong way.

Derek sighs and moves the chair closer, putting his feet up on the mattress and holding a hand out for Stiles. Stiles eyes it with uncertainty, a bit unnerved by the casualness of the whole thing. He shifts again and groans in pain, instantly taking Derek’s hand. Derek tilts his head back and closes his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain that he relieves from Stiles. His entire body feels like it’s deflating, gradually growing heavier, and his breathing slows. He’s barely conscious enough to hear Stiles whisper words of thanks before he falls asleep, fingers entwined with Stiles’s.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand, I brought another chapter to this story. This might just be one of those things I continue to add to as times goes on, but I make no promises (har har, you'll understand this joke when you read the chapter). This isn't how I imagined this follow-up chapter to go, but the characters demanded it, so this is what happened. I hope you enjoy -- and thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! I love you all so much!! <333

_ “And how today, it sets me down alongside you.” -And Then You, Greg Laswell _

Stiles rolled over the next morning and didn’t dare to move. His entire body ached and his stomach twinged with every move he made. He carefully maneuvered onto his back and glanced down at himself, using nimble fingertips to push the fabric of his t-shirt out of the way. He hissed between his teeth as his fingers skated over the bandage covering his abdomen. The usually stark white material was saturated in blood and the sight made him nauseous.

Laying his head back on his pillow, he stared up at the ceiling with a defeated sigh. So much had happened in the past few days that he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it all. Derek had fought long and hard against the alpha pack, rushing around to keep them out of Hale territory. That was the problem with Derek, Stiles thought, he never took time to think about himself. Derek was so busy caring about everyone else that he left no time or energy for himself. Who was supposed to look after Derek if he wouldn’t even look after himself?

The thought of Derek made Stiles feel uneasy. He was vaguely aware of the touching and the handholding and the arguing before he’d finally dozed off last night. He didn’t understand it, really -- why Derek even stuck around. He had an entire pack to look after. Surely Stiles was the least of his worries.

“Your bandages need to be changed.”

Stiles nearly fell off his bed at the sound of Derek’s voice and he spent a few minutes flailing to regain his balance. An intense pain rippled over his abdomen and his stomach flopped. He promptly laid back down and closed his eyes, placing a hand over his exposed stomach.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Derek!” Stiles swore at him once the nausea had faded, glancing over at him. “I thought you left!”

Derek lifted his eyebrows in bemusement. “Why would I do that?”

Stiles floundered for an answer, his hands flailing absently. Eventually, he shook his head and waved him off. “I don’t know! To check on the rest of the pack, maybe? You know, _your actual pack_?”

Derek’s lips twitched, but the frown barely reached his lips before his expression turned stoic. He approached the bed slowly, new bandages and a bowl of water in his hands. He set the supplies on Stiles’s desk, removing a wet cloth from the bowl. He focused on wringing out the cloth as he spoke, “You are pack, Stiles.”

At Stiles’s snort, Derek’s frown returned. Derek breathed heavily through his nose before grabbing a hold of Stiles’s hand to help him sit up. Derek pushed Stiles’s hands out of the way as he began to unravel the bandages.

“You are pack,” Derek reiterated, his hands moving delicately to remove the bandages. He turned his back to Stiles as the boy began to remove his shirt. Derek returned to the bowl of water, busying himself with the cloth, before helping Stiles lay back down. “You don’t have to be a wolf to be pack, Stiles.” He glanced briefly at Stiles’s face before turning his attention to the wound. The amount of blood was a little worrisome, but Derek tried to ignore it as he began to wipe away what had dried.

Stiles stared up at Derek with a frown. There were dark circles under the wolf’s eyes and his eyes looked bloodshot. Here Derek was again taking care of Stiles again when he should be taking care of himself. Stiles glanced down at Derek’s hands with a frustrated sigh. “Did you even sleep last night, Derek?”

Derek was quiet for a moment, his hands unpausing in their work. Feeling Stiles’s growing frustration, Derek shook his head. “Not much.”

“Derek!” Stiles berated, grabbing a hold of the man’s wrist. “Are you seriously looking after me right now when you haven’t slept? You’re going to kill yourself if you keep this up.”

Derek looked up at Stiles for the first time since he’d entered the room, a stormy expression clouding over his eyes. He shook his wrist free from Stiles’s hold and returned to the bowl on the desk, rinsing the cloth.

Stiles felt his frustration building at the obvious avoidance. Stiles was honestly getting tired of having to worry about all of his friends. “Derek!”

Derek’s hands jerked and he tossed the cloth into the bowl of water with a violent splash. He gripped the side of the desk firmly between his hands, trying to control his anger. Stiles, on the other hand, was happy to have gotten some sort of reaction from him. Anything was better than silence.

“What do you expect me to do, Stiles?” Derek bit out angrily, closing his eyes to keep himself from looking at the boy. He knew that it would only make him angrier if he did. He wanted to kill whoever had done this to him, to go out there and tear the mutt limb from limb. But his anger always got him into sticky situations; acting irrationally would only make things worse.

“I want you to start taking care of yourself, Derek!” Stiles shouted angrily. “I mean, _fuck_! Your pack needs you! They are counting on you-”

“Exactly!” Derek yelled, his voice louder than intended. He made the mistake of turning to Stiles, his anger immediately building. “I have a pack that needs me! How can I sleep knowing that they’re in danger? How can I protect them-”

“You can’t protect them like this!” Stiles screamed, his voice going hoarse. His throat ached uncomfortably and the wound on his stomach twinged as he moved animately, but he couldn’t let this go -- not this time. He needed his friends safe and they would only be safe if Derek was at his best. They all needed Derek. And maybe Stiles wouldn’t admit it, but he needed Derek too. “What are you going to do when the alphas come back, huh? When they attack the pack and you’re too weak to defend us? How are you going to feel when you’re so tired that you can’t make it to one of us in time? You can’t go on like this, Derek. You can’t keep living in constant fear!”

“You don’t get it,” Derek bit out, not bothering to elaborate as he turned back to the water bowl.

“Oh, really?” Stiles bit back irritably. “I don’t understand what it’s like to live in constant fear? To stay up late at night and worry about my friends, wonder when they’ll be the ones to die? Wonder when my dad will figure out about all this and get himself killed? Because it’s really only a matter of time, right? But no, Derek, you’re right. I have it so easy.”

Derek’s jaw tightened and he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then please,” Stiles scoffed. “Enlighten me.”

Derek huffed, collapsing into the desk chair and wiping a hand over his face. “You don’t get it, Stiles, because you don’t understand what it’s like to be an alpha. I have to be alert for any threat to me or my pack. If something happens to them, that’s on me. Losing someone--losing part of your pack-” Derek trailed off and shook his head, glancing at the bowl of water on the desk. “I can’t lose anyone else, Stiles.”

Stiles sighed, laying back against his pillows, and got a good look at Derek. He’d seen Derek broken before, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen him quite like this. It was the first time that Derek had really confided in him, spoken of his past and his fears. Derek wasn’t just some crazy werewolf who was power hungry, he was wounded -- and those wounds were still healing.

“Derek,” Stiles began. “You may be the alpha, but you aren’t the only one the pack relies on. They have each other, you know -- we all have each other. You’re not alone anymore, Derek.”

Derek froze, his gaze unmoving as he stared at the floor. He knew Stiles was right, but it was still so hard to break free from his past, to let go of all that he had lost and to move on. He didn’t think he’d really ever be able to let go of his mistakes. He couldn’t let anyone else die because of something he did -- or neglected to do.

Derek jerked from his thoughts when he felt a hand cover his and he glanced up to find Stiles smiling sympathetically.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you, dude,” Stiles reminded him. “I don’t want to see anyone else die either,  but we can’t keep losing sleep over it. What good will that do for any of us?”

Derek thought about it for a moment and couldn’t fight off the smile twitching at his lips. He sighed and turned his hand over, touching his palm briefly to Stiles’s. The other boy looked surprised by the reaction and Derek tried not to appear too smug. Removing his hand from Stiles’s, Derek got to his feet and returned to the bowl of water.

“We need to get that wound cleaned and covered,” Derek stated offhandedly, suppressing his smile.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but relaxed back on the bed. “Will you sleep after?”

Derek sat on the edge of the mattress, touching the cold cloth to Stiles’s wound. He shrugged one shoulder, a corner of his lips lifting. “I make no promises.”

Stiles sighed heavily. Derek was impossible.


End file.
